


Dancing Alone (is still dancing)

by pikasafire



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Asexuality, F/M, Gen, IT'S PLATONIC, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most days Claude supposes it could be worse. He could have a weird fetish. He could be gay. He could be completely obsessed with sex. But some of the time, not being interested in sex seems like the biggest problem of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Alone (is still dancing)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That Fucking Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120691) by [barefootstarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootstarz/pseuds/barefootstarz). 



> This is part of a series with barefootstarz where we pick an under-represented sexuality and write about it. You can read her excellent asexual!Coots fic which is linked above
> 
> This follows absolutely no timeline that makes any sense. Just go with it people. Vaguely it covers from... 2008 to 2012? I don’t know. Starts Claude's rookie year ends start of 2012 season, pre-Captaincy. 
> 
> This was also written for hockeybigbang! The excellent art at the end is by hipchecked! She’s _awesome_

 

Most days Claude supposes it could be worse. He could have a weird fetish. He could be gay. He could be completely obsessed with sex.

But some of the time, not being interested in sex seems like the biggest problem of all.

The locker room is full of talk and boasts about conquests and how many women they’ve fucked and Claude’s not even been there a week before he’s roped into it. It’s nothing new or nothing surprising, he guesses, but at least in juniors, with all the guys being young and all desperately trying to make it to the NHL, choosing hockey over sex wasn’t so much of a big deal. Claude’s not dumb enough to think that it’ll be the same in the Flyers locker room.

It’s less than a week before he’s asked about it “Hey, rookie! You still green?” It’s Carts. Of _course_ it’s fucking Carts.

It takes a moment for him to process what he means, unsure until Danny whispers it to him in French and then he can’t help the flush that crawls across his cheeks. Blushing is the worst possible thing that could happen and Scotty cracks up, tossing a sock at him from across the locker room. “Looks like we’ve got a virgin here.”

There’s gentle mockery behind it, no real heat, but Claude can’t help but deny it anyway, “No!” He protests, mortified, “Jesus. I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah?” Why the fuck did Claude have to say anything because now everyone’s looking at him, and his face is getting redder and redder every second.

He’s digging himself even deeper, but he can’t back out now or they _will_ think he’s a virgin. He’s already the rookie, he doesn’t need anything else to be made fun of, “Of course I have.” He ducks his head, tugging roughly at his laces and muttering to his feet, “I’m not a virgin.”

“He blushes like a virgin.” Fucking Richards and the guys all laugh, R.J nudges him on the other side with a bit of a grin and Claude forces a smile. They’re just playing, he knows that.

He wasn’t lying though. He’s had sex. Once. It was awkward and terrible and they kinda got there in the end, although he doesn’t think either of them enjoyed it. And okay, maybe that’s the only time, but whatever. He’s had other things on his mind; he just doesn’t understand what the big deal is. Who even cares?

It becomes a thing in the locker room because of _course_ it fucking does, and it’s stupid and frustrating but it’s not like he can say anything without sounding completely idiotic. ‘I’m just not interested,’ isn’t really going to hold up. And _God_ , he doesn’t want them to think he’s gay because wouldn’t that just be a clusterfuck of a disaster in a place as homophobic as the locker room. He wants to fit in, not stand out. And so, when they drag him out to a bar a few weeks later, mockery and teasing across the table about Claude’s lack of game, shoving drinks at him that he’s too young to legally drink, Claude loses his temper.

“ _Fine_ ,” he snaps, shoving his chair back. “I’ll fucking _prove_ it.” And there’s catcalling around the table, laughter and cheering and Claude looks around the bar until he finds a girl in the corner who’s not talking to anyone, dark hair, kinda pretty. Claude picks up his drink, wading through the masses of people, and pauses by her table, giving her his most charming smile and hoping to every God he can think of that, please, please just this once, don’t have a girl shoot him down. “Hi.” He says, and he’s glad he remembered to put his tooth in. “Um. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

She looks him over, raises her eyebrow and gives him a go ahead gesture. “Be my guest,”

“Thanks.”

The boys are making a ruckus in the corner, “Get on it, G!” just audible over the noise of the bar. Claude can feel his face flush a little. Whatever, he’s young and he’s okay looking and he’s fit and he has a lot of money. He can totally do this. He’s a _catch_ , alright?

“Friends of yours?” She asks, dryly.

“Sorry,” He says hastily. “They’re assholes. Ignore them.” He has no idea what to say or what to do, this whole thing is stupid and he doesn’t even really _want_ to do this. “I’m Claude.” he says, giving her a hopeful smile.

Casey is nice enough and they chat as Claude nurses his warm beer, painfully sober by the time Casey glances down at her phone with a grimace. “I need to go.” She says and she gives him a genuine smile. “But it was nice to meet you.”

And Claude speaks without thinking. “Can I come with you?” The look he gets is withering and he backtracks hastily, “No, no. I mean. Like. Not like that but-” There’s no way he can explain this without sounding like an asshole. “They will never let me hear the end of it. I mean, I don’t want to, like, actually go _home_ -home with you- not that I wouldn’t, I mean you’re hot and all, but-” He takes a breath, the glare on Casey’s face softening a little into confused amusement. “I mean. Can I just come outside with you? I won’t follow you home or anything, but-”

She’s not an idiot and she connects the dots. “You want to tell your friends you slept with me?” She’s not sounding nearly as offended as she could be. That’s a positive, right?

“Probably.” Claude says without thinking. He cringes a little, “I mean… Yes?” He’s gotta salvage this situation somehow. “It’s just, they give me a lot of shit for not picking up.” She’s looking unimpressed again, and he’s not sure how else to explain this that isn’t going to sound pathetic. “I don’t want to pick up.” He says. “But, if I make it _look_ like I’m picking up, we all win, right?” He gives her what he hopes is a charming smile and there’s a moment where Claude things she’s going to get up and walk away and he’ll never hear the end of it from the guys. The smile drops from his mouth and he ducks his head, “I mean. Fuck. Sorry, just- Don’t worry about it.”

She’s concerningly quiet and he glances up, seeing understanding dawn on her face. Casey sighs, “I- fuck. _Fine_.” She points a stern finger at him, “Seriously though, you’re not actually coming home with me.”

“No, no. Of course not.” And he’s so grateful he could cry. Even if it shuts the guys up for one fucking day, it’ll be worth making an absolute fucking idiot of himself.

She picks up her bag and stands, grabbing his hand to pull him behind her as they head for the exit, and Claude directs her close enough to the table so he can grab his coat. The guys are absolutely wasted, cheering loudly and banging the table as he approaches, “Oh yeah, G!” Scotty howls over the din and Carts punches Claude’s arm as he grabs his jacket. “Make him a man!” Richie shouts at their backs as they leave.

“Sorry.” Claude mutters in her ear.

She pauses, turning to face him and she’s awfully close right now, “What a bunch of assholes.” she says, “Jesus.” She regards him carefully for a moment, before saying, “Just so you know, this is a pity kiss.” And she pulls his mouth down to hers.

Claude can count on one hand the amount of times he’s been kissed and he only needs three fingers to count the amount of times he’s been a willing participant in the kiss. It’s not the worst thing in the world though and after a second, he guesses he can kind of understand why people like it. Casey’s warm and she smells good and it’s kinda nice to be close to someone like this, the bare skin of her arm brushing against Claude’s and the kiss is only better for knowing that neither of them are going to have to take their clothes off.

The catcalls are even louder and she pulls away, grins at him and turns, tugging him out of the bar.

“There.” She says, dropping his hand when they get outside, both of them pulling on their coats. “Hopefully they’ll leave you alone for a bit now.”

“Thanks.” Claude says, and he’s never meant anything so much before in his life, “Seriously. You didn’t have to kiss me. But _thanks_.”

She just grins at him, “Just make the story a good one, alright?”

“You rocked my world.” He reassures her and he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking her to the taxi ranl.

“Awesome.” She says, and she laughs before a serious expression crosses her face. “Look. It’s probably not my place, but... It’s alright, you know.”

It takes a moment to process, and Claude blinks. “I- what?”

She gives him a bit of a sad smile. “I get it, alright. Your friends will be weird about it. But, it’s alright to be gay. Don’t worry about them.”

A taxi pulls up as Claude’s trying to find the words to explain how _wrong_ she is. “I-” He’s floored, completely and utterly baffled. “I’m not _gay_ -”

It’s too late, she’s already climbed in. “Catch you around.” She says, waving from inside the car

“Yeah.” Claude mutters to himself as he watches her car pull away, holds his arm out to flag his own taxi. Alright.”

*

 

It seems like a fucking stupid strategy, but it seems to work well enough to keep the guys off his back. It doesn’t have to be often, just occasionally, when one of the guys makes a comment about Claude going through a dry spell. Sometimes he can get away with making something up, “Oh, I slept with this friend of a friend,” or, “I went out on my own,” and stretch out the time between these weird fake one night stands.

Really, he just doesn’t understand why the guys can’t just leave him alone. And the more he thinks about it, the more it freaks him out. He’s a normal guy, right? He’s young and he’s healthy and he’s a guy and he doesn’t want to think about it because isn’t he supposed to want sex? Isn’t this supposed to be something all guys his age want? Isn’t it supposed to be all he thinks about?

What if there’s something wrong with him?

He thinks about looking it up online, typing it into Google, but what the fuck would he even type? _Am I actually gay? Is my dick broken? I don’t want to have sex? Am I normal?_ What the fuck? Like that’s going to get him anywhere. Not to mention that with his luck, he’ll leave his laptop somewhere and someone will find it and they’ll find his search history and they’ll _know_ and it’ll get back to his team and his whole NHL career will be over.

Perhaps he’s catastrophizing, but it could happen, right?

He’ll just keep doing what he’s doing and if, over time, he gets a little sloppier, a little careless with his fake one night stands, then who’s actually paying that much attention?

*

Danny is apparently, because _of-fucking-course_ , and when he moves in with Danny it makes it both harder and easier. He can lie a bit better with someone there to back up the fact he wasn’t home and no one around to know that he’d just driven to that awesome cafe a little out of town and sat on his own for a while. But, when the boys are with Sylvie, it starts to become a little obvious that Claude never actually brings anyone home.

"So, Scotty was saying you picked up last night." Danny says a few months after Claude moves in, and Claude refuses to look over but he can see out of the corner of his eye; Danny leaning in the doorway, crossing his arms across his chest in that way that Danny thinks makes him look casual, but Claude knows means that Danny’s uncomfortable with whatever he’s going to say next.

Claude shrugs, and focuses a little harder on his Halo game, like if he ignores Danny long enough, he'll go away. "So?"

Danny pauses, waits until his words are going to have the effect he wants and Claude's sweating a little, and adds, "I heard you come home at about ten. You didn't have anyone with you."

Claude pauses his game but keeps his head down. There’s only so long he can sit in his car before he gets bored. "So? It was quick. In the car. What's it to you? You know I don't like bringing girls back here." He's too defensive, muscles tense. A huge red flag The guys have been giving him a particularly hard time now that he and Danny are living together, it’s a lot like he has to be particularly straight and pick up extra girls to avoid the suspicious sidelong glances.

Silence.

Claude can feel his shoulders creeping up around his ears. “What?” He demands, when it’s obvious that Danny’s not going to say anything.

“You didn’t actually pick up, did you?”

And Claude’s just so fucking sick of this _hounding_ from the guys and he shoves himself up from the couch, the controller clattering to the floor unheeded. “Why does it fucking matter?” He snaps, “What the fuck is everyone’s obsession with my sex life?”

Danny looks startled. “Claude-”

“No, this is _bullshit_.” And he’s getting more and more worked up, “Who cares whether or not I pick up, or who I fuck or don’t fuck, or if I even _want_ to go out and fuck people. Why is anyone else’s business, alright? I don’t want to pick up, I don’t want to have sex with people in bars, and I don’t know why the hell that’s any of your fucking concern!” He’s said too much but he can feel more words pushing at the back of his throat, and he’s got to get out of here or he’s going to keep shouting and the expression on Danny’s face says Claude’s said enough already. “ _Fuck_!”

“Claude!”

He shakes off the hand that tries to grab his elbow as he passes, shoves past Danny until he can escape to his room, slamming the door with a satisfying bang and throwing himself on his bed. His heart is racing, his stomach churning and he doesn’t even know what the fuck is wrong with him. Why can’t he just want to go out and fuck everything like everyone else?

*

There’s a quiet knock at the door about an hour later. “Claude?”

Claude groans into his pillow. He’s not ready to deal with this. Possibly ever. “Fuck _off_ , Danny.”

Silence for a moment, then a quiet, “Please?”

A pause and Claude thinks about ignoring him, keeping his head buried in his blankets, but it’s not going to solve anything, Danny’s not going to go away, and so he levers himself off the bed, stomps across the room to fling open the door. “What?” He snaps. He doesn’t have to be _gracious_ about it and he turns without waiting for an answer, throwing himself back on his bed and burrowing his head under the pillows again. This is not a conversation he wants to have.

Danny lingers in the doorway for a moment before coming in, standing by the bed for a moment as he seemingly weighs up the chances of being punched if he sits down. He must decide that it’s worth the risk because Claude feels the bed dip by his hip with Danny’s weight, a moment of hesitation before Danny’s hand rests lightly on his back. “So.” He says awkwardly, “Uh. Are you okay?” For a guy with three kids under twelve, he’s shit at this comforting thing.

“Fucking _awesome_ ,” Claude says, sarcasm muffled a little by the pillow he’s got his face is. “I don’t know.” He keeps his face buried for a moment, before turning his head and looking over at Danny pathetically, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Take a break from picking up?” Danny suggests, though he mostly looks confused.

Claude snorts, “Yeah, that’ll help the gay rumours.”

“Do the guys really bother you that much?” Danny asks, frowning. He picks his next words carefully. “I wouldn’t have thought of _you_ as, y’know... against gay people.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “I’m not _gay_ , Danny.”

“Oh,” Danny says, bewildered. “Are you sure?” Claude’s withering silence appears to say more than enough because Danny stares at him, “I just. I don’t get it. What’s-”

Claude sighs, cutting him off before Danny can ask “Just forget it, alright? I’m not gay. I’m fine. Forget this ever happened.” He rolls off the bed, carefully not meeting Danny’s eyes. “Let’s get pizza for dinner, yeah?”

For a second, Danny seems like he’s going to argue. “Okay,” He sighs, “But no pineapple.”

*

It seems to be enough. Danny never mentions it again, Claude certainly doesn’t, and Claude can continue his shitty fake-sex-life in peace. He can do this. There’s nothing wrong with him, he just hasn’t met the right person. He’s just fussy, right?

He meets Marie in a shitty dive bar that Scotty drags them to and she sitting at the bar, looking like she’s having about as much fun as he is. He sidles up, gestures to the bartender and offers her a smile. “Hey. How’s-”

She doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. “Not interested.”

Ouch. “I- It’s not like that.” He says hastily. “I’m not trying to score.” The look she gives him is scornfully disbelieving. “No, I mean it.” He doesn’t want to show all his cards, doesn’t want his secret to get out - he’s well known enough these days, and that could be a disaster. Instead, he gestures over to the guys, “They’re being idiots and you looked bored.” He tries for his most charming smile. “That’s it, I swear.”

“Okay.” She says, still regarding him with suspicion. She shrugs, “It’s a free country, I suppose. I can’t stop you sitting there.”

It’s as close to an invitation as he’s going to get. “I’m Claude.” He says, and there’s the brief moment where he’s expecting realisation to dawn, perhaps a change of attitude. Instead she fixes him with the same unimpressed stare she gave him in the beginning.

“I know who you are.”

Oh. Awkward. “Not a hockey fan then?” He’s not sure why he’s even still trying, but she’s pretty and on her own and he’d pretty much eat his own arm to avoid going back to the table where the guys are at this point.

He actually gets a small smile from her this time, “It’s alright.” She says, “Not used to being hit on by players though.” A pause, “I’m Marie.”

It’s all it really takes and he doesn’t bother with the tricks, just talking. By the end of the night, when she looks at her watch and apologises, he can’t help but ask for her number.

“I thought you weren’t trying to score.” She says, but she’s smiling as she grabs a pen, scrawling her number on a scrap of paper and passing it over.

“I wasn’t.” Claude says honestly, but he pockets the number, watching her go with a grin on his face.

*

They go out for coffee and for dinner, she comes over and they watch movies, he helps her walk her dogs and they both fail at cooking and, ‘seeing each other’ turns into ‘dating’.

Of course, there’s only so long he can put off the inevitable.

He makes it work and the sex isn’t horrible, but it’s not exactly great either. Maybe he’s doing it wrong but it’s not like he has anyone to ask and there’s no way in hell he’s googling that shit. So, it becomes a case of lying and of putting it off when he can. “I’m tired.” He says, or, with an apologetic smile, “Got a game tomorrow,” instituting weird rules about when they can have sex. He does his best to make it up in other ways: cuddling on the couch and attempting to cook, spending as much time as he can with her.

They’re happy. Well, Claude thinks so.

It takes about six months before Marie’s acting strange, impatient with him when he brushes her off, and so he tries to fix it, buys her flowers and spends as much time with her as he can. Can’t they just do this dating thing? Why’s it gotta be all about sex?

He’s kidding himself, thinking that it’s going to be fine, that he can keep this up forever, and the end creeps up on him, inevitable. They’re cuddled up on the couch on a cold Friday night and Marie’s pressing her mouth to his jaw, her hand sneaking under the hem of his shirt and he knows where this is heading. He laughs a little, trying to sound a little less uncomfortable than he feels and places his hand over her own, “Not tonight, baby. Skate tomorrow.”

She stops and sighs, “Seriously?” And instead of smiling like she usually does, she looks frustrated, pushing herself up so she’s sitting upright, her arms crossed defensively across her chest, “You’ve got to be kidding, Claude.”

“I’ve got skate,” He repeats, like she missed it the first time, “You know that hockey’s gotta come first.”

“You have _practice_ ,” she points out, “You don’t play until Sunday.” And that’s true. He was kind of hoping she hadn’t remembered that. He ducks his head, not entirely sure exactly what he should say and she seems to take his silence for an admission of guilt, “What’s going on?” She asks and her voice cracks a little, and oh God, no, she’s going to cry, “Do you just not find me attractive? Am I doing something wrong?”

He hates it when she cries, and he feels like the biggest asshole on the planet, “It’s not that,” He says, helplessly, sitting up and reaching out to her. “Of course I find you attractive.” She’s stiff and tense in his arms, and Claude has no idea how to fix this. “I’m just under a lot of stress at the moment, it’s nothing to do with you, I swear.” He presses a kiss to the side of her head, desperately trying to find the words to make it all better as she cries silently. Why didn’t he just have sex with her, even though the thought sits heavy and a little unpleasant in his stomach.

Marie wipes at her face, “Jesus, Claude.” But her shoulders relax a little as he rubs her back, “You need to talk to someone about it if it’s getting to you like this.”

And he shrugs because talking to a doctor about his broken dick is the absolute last thing he wants to do, “I’ll be alright.” He’s aiming for levity, but it appears to be the wrong thing to say.

“ _No_ ,” She snaps, “This is a problem. We need to deal with it.”

Being told what to do is not exactly something that Claude deals well with and he feels frustration swell, “I’m fine,” He says, and God, he wishes it was true. “We can deal with it on our own.”

They can’t.

For a few weeks, he tries extra hard, tries to be the boyfriend that both of them want him to be. The most frustrating part is that he can do it; he can do all of it, just… why does it have to involve so much sex? There’s gotta be something wrong with him; he’s supposed to look forward to sleeping with his girlfriend, not dreading it with that reluctant feeling. Marie wants him to talk to the team shrink. She wants him to see a doctor. Claude doesn’t need any of that, he’s fine, he’s perfectly fine (He’s not fine at all).

There’s something wrong with him and he’s fucking terrified.

*

They break up a few months later and Claude gets outrageously drunk.

Maybe he _is_ gay.

Maybe he’s just so repressed that he doesn’t even _know_ he’s gay.

It makes sense to drink when he’s having a possible gay crisis and when Danny gets home from a dinner out with Sylvie and the boys, Claude’s sprawled out on the couch downstairs, head spinning.

“What’s up?” Danny asks carefully from the doorway, eyeing the bottles of beer scattered around the loungeroom. “Everything alright?”

“Marie and I broke up.” Claude says, sitting up, a bitter laugh that sounds more like a sob and he puts his head in his hands, a few deep breaths that do absolutely nothing to help. Drinking was the _worst_ idea

“Shit.” Danny’s face falls and he comes into the room, sitting on the couch next to Claude, “What happened?”

Definitely a sob this time, “I’m just a shit boyfriend, apparently.”

Danny frowns, wraps an arm around Claude’s shoulders, “What a load of bullshit,” He says, “You did everything right.” and he’s trying to be supportive and Claude appreciates it, but the reassurance makes him feel worse.

“No, she’s right.” Claude says, and he’s not crying, _he isn’t_ , but his shoulders are shaking and he’s trying not to gasp for breath. “I didn’t-” Alcohol is supposed to make this easier, but the words still stick in his throat. “I didn’t want to have sex with her.” He’s definitely crying now, and he’s too drunk to even feel that bad about it. “There’s something wrong with me.”

The silence is so long that for a moment Claude thinks he’s just ruined a friendship as well as his relationship, but Danny’s not moving away from him. Danny squeezes Claude’s shoulder a little tighter, hesitant when he eventually speaks, “What do you mean?”

What the hell. He’s said this much. "I just- I didn't want to." He says, "And I don't know why."

A pause and then, "I don’t know, man.” Danny says helplessly, but he tugs him closer, rubs his shoulder gently.

Claude's not sure why he does it, desperation to find an answer perhaps, but he turns and leans over unsteadily, resting his weight on Danny's thigh and presses their mouths together.

Danny freezes, motionless. He’s not kissing him back but he’s not pushing him away either and it only takes a few seconds before the absurdity of what’s happening occurs to him, _what the fuck is Claude doing_ , and Claude pulls away, mortified. "Fuck. Sorry, sorry."

There’s a horrible, gaping silence between them, and when Danny speaks, his voice is carefully even and his shoulders tense. “So,” Danny says. He’s not moving away but he’s not meeting Claude’s eyes either. "What was that about?"

“It’s nothing.” And Jesus, he’s not going to get away with that. "It’s not you.” And he’s not sure whether that’s going to be offensive. “I just. I thought maybe it's a guy thing, maybe I'm gay and I just don't know it. And... it seemed like a good idea?" He’s fucking everything up, “Sorry. Shit.”

Danny sighs, his shoulders relaxing and tugs him close again. “Did it help?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should see the trainers?” Danny suggests, “I don’t know what else to say, man.”

“Maybe,” Claude murmurs. The alcohol is catching up with him, and he changes the subject. "How was dinner with Sylvie and the boys?"

Danny sighs, wraps an arm around Claude's shoulders . "Good. Difficult. As always." Silence stretches between them and it's not until Danny laughs, that Claude realises how far he's slumped over, practically resting his head on Danny's chest. "Come on, lightweight." Danny says affectionately. "Go to bed."

*

Claude’s mortified the next morning, his head pounding, his mouth tasting a whole lot like he’s been licking dirty socks and he spends far too long in the shower, trying to drown himself and put off having to look Danny in the eye.

Danny doesn’t say anything when Claude makes it downstairs, wordlessly handing him a handful of painkillers and a glass of juice and most definitely not mentioning anything about last night.

Claude’s fucking _loves_ Danny.

He feels better this morning and maybe it’s the hangover, maybe it’s just the light of day but he doesn’t need a doctor. It doesn’t matter; nothing about this issue has to affect him, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to his play.

*

Except it does.

The months pass and Claude’s struggling on the ice, his passes aren’t connecting and he can’t seem to hit the back of the net. It’s hard to focus on hockey when all he can think of is how there’s something wrong with him.

Chris corners him after practice a few months later, when it’s clear that this slump isn’t going to resolve itself. Chris mightn’t be able to skate but he’s still their Captain, watching from the sidelines during practice. "G." He says, and it's quiet enough that it shouldn't catch the attention of everyone in the locker room, but it does. "Can I catch you before you go?"

Shit. "Yeah." Claude says, forces a smile on his face. He is so fucked. "Of course."

He lingers, changing as slowly as he can, painstakingly loosening his laces. Danny squeezes his shoulder as he goes, giving him a bit of a smile and if Claude’s return smile is a little wobbly, neither of them are going to mention it.

“So.” Chris says, and Claude hates how tiny he feels when Chris sits next to him on the bench, despite the fact that _everyone_ feels small next to Chris, and Claude busies himself with tossing a ball of used tape between his hands. “So, uh. Is everything alright?”

It’s one of those stupid vague questions, and Claude’s had enough of stupid outburst and shitty decisions, and so he shrugs and lies, “Everything’s fine.” He mutters, talking to his knees and he doesn’t need to look up to tell that Chris is either rolling his eyes or staring at him with that frustrated exasperation Claude’s become relatively familiar with.

“Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it.” Chris says, and Claude makes himself a little smaller, he’s not going to like this. “You’re playing like shit. So, you wanna tell me what’s going on? The guys giving you shit? Would’ve thought it’d be a little easier around here without Carts and Richie giving you a hard time. Or is it the lines? I know it was a bit quick to take you up to first line centre.” A pause, like he’s expecting Claude to say something, “Or is it something outside the rink?”

It’s not even like Claude can deny it, “It’s-” He swallows the words he wants to say and reaches for the most plausible excuse, “I broke up with Marie.”

Chris snorts. Claude should’ve known it was never going to fly. “Yeah. Like six months ago.”

“I-” There’s no way out of this and Claude’s heart is racing. “Just some personal stuff.” He mutters, keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, “No big deal.”

“Not to be an asshole or anything” Chris says, voice dry, “But at this point, yeah, it is a fucking big deal when the first line centre is playing like you are.” He pauses for a moment to let the words sink in, sounding gentler when he speaks. “Looks to me you got two choices. You can go see Adam-”

Just the name is enough to get Claude’s shoulders hunched around his ears, he’s not going to talk to the _team psychologist_ , he’s not _crazy_. “Or?” He swallows a few times, trying to force past the lump in his throat.

He feels Chris shrug beside him, “Or you get yourself benched.”

Some choice that is. Claude lets his head fall into his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, and takes a few deep breaths. He just can’t catch a fucking break. “Seriously?” His voice cracks a little, and he takes another breath, trying to steady himself, “I’ll be better, I swear.”

Chris sighs heavily and wraps an arm around Claude’s shoulders, squeezing him in a way Claude assumes is supposed to be comforting. “Hey, don’t get all upset or whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah.” Claude says. “For you.” It’s bitter and it’s a stupid fucking thing to say because Chris is in a much worse position than he is. “Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“Look.” Chris says, and he’s got his Captain voice on, “Adam’s great, I see him once a week. He hasn’t bitten me yet. You should talk to him.” Chris knocks their knees together, waits until Claude looks up at him reluctantly. “Hey,” He lowers his voice, “They’re gonna want to make you Captain soon enough,” He says, “You’re gonna be the next one, we all know that.” Claude does. Abstractly. In that weird ‘distant future’ kind of way, “You gotta get your shit together before that happens.”

He can’t help but protest, latching on to anything that can change the subject. “ _You’re_ Captain.”

“And you’re going to be the next one.” Chris grins at him, gives Claude’s shoulder a bit of a shake, “Go see Adam.”

*

Chris goes with him to make sure Claude makes an appointment for after practice the following Thursday and Claude spends the rest of the week feeling a whole lot like he’s going to puke.

When Thursday comes around, the looming knowledge of the looming appointment sits like a rock in his stomach, an unpleasant buzzing like there are bugs crawling under his skin.

“You alright?” Danny asks as they get ready for practice, reaching over to rub Claude’s shoulder, “You don’t look so good, man.”

'M fine.” Claude says through gritted teeth, not so sure he’s not going to throw up if he opens his mouth any further.

Danny raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. “Alright... Just don’t hurl on the ice.”

He must look pretty rotten because after half an hour of lacklustre skating, Coach lets him sit on the bench, resting his head against the boards, shaky and unwell. He could just... not go to his appointment. He could beg off, he clearly looks like shit surely he could argue he's too sick. He contemplates it for all of five minutes before sighing. It's not like it'd work. Adam knows where he lives. And works. And where he's gonna be and when. There's no real way out of it.

Instead, Claude sits in his stall after practice, shirt off, skates still on, delaying and delaying until most of the guys have left and he's still sitting there in most of his gear.

"You sure you're alright?" Danny asks, frowning. "Do you want a lift home? We can just leave your car here until practice tomorrow."

"I'm fine." Claude says, "I'm just gonna... see the trainer." It's not entirely a lie.

"Want me to wait? I don't mind."

Claude wants badly to say yes. "I'm okay." He says instead but some of it must show on his face because Danny looks at him for a long moment before dropping his bag.

"I'm going to wait." He says. "C'mon, get changed. Or at least take your skates off."

"You don't have to-" Claude starts.

"I know." Danny smiles at him, reaches down to start tugging at Claude's laces. "Come on."

Danny's helping to unravel the tape from Claude’s socks when a head appears around the locker room door. "Oh, Claude. There you are." Adam says cheerfully. "I was thinking you'd run out on me. Ready?"

Claude's face prickles with heat, "Yeah." He mutters, keeping his eyes down. "Give me a moment." He's feels humiliated as Adam leaves, mortified that Danny now knows what he's doing and it's stupid. They get the mantra all the time from the coaches and the trainers, _it's a stressful job, it's okay to struggle sometimes, it's okay to need to talk to someone about it_ but it's another thing to actually do it and his eyes sting a little. He can't even get his own shit together. Jesus.

It's Claude's own stupid fault, he should've been quicker. Of course Adam was going to look for him.

Danny's silent for a moment before asking the obvious. "You’re seeing Adam?"

What else is Claude supposed to say? "Yeah." And it's not like he's expecting Danny to make fun of him or laugh, but knowing Danny _knows_ sits heavy in his chest.

Danny's still not looking at him, tugging one of Claude's socks free. "He's a good guy." He says, pauses. "I saw him last year, during the whole thing with Sylvie." He's talking more to Claude's feet than his face, but glances up to give Claude a quick smile. "Stop looking so terrified." He tugs off Claude's other sock and tosses him his jeans, shifting back to the bench with a groan and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Go on. I'm going to play Angry Birds for a while. I'll be here when you're done."

Claude changes quickly, his stomach knotting as he heads towards Adam’s room, and there's something about the 'Sports Psychologist' plate on the door that makes opening that door a million times worse.

He takes a breath and opens it anyway.

"Claude." Adam smiles, standing up from a comfy looking red chair and gesturing him in. "Come in."

Claude closes the door behind him and hovers awkwardly, can’t help but glance at the door and wonder if it's too late to back out.

"Ah, the look of abject terror." Adam says dryly. "My favourite expression." He grins at his own joke, "Take a seat. And relax, Claude. I'm not going to make you do or say anything if you don't want to." He heads to a little fridge in the corner, "Gatorade? Water?"

"Water please." he's never felt so awkward before in his life. He's been in here before, they all have, part and parcel of signing a contract, but it feels different like this, now there's a reason; he's _chosen_ to be here. (Not much of a choice.)

Adam tosses him a bottle and grabs one for himself, before sitting across from him, “So, what’s been happening?”

It’s almost a relief to know there’s not going to be any small talk. “Not much.” Claude says, speaking to his knees. That’s probably not going to cut it, so he elaborates a little. “Prong- Chris wanted me to come.”

Adam just nods, face carefully blank. “Did he say why?”

Claude shrugs, “I’m playing like shit.” Is he allowed to swear in here? “Badly, I mean.”

“Any particular reason for that?”

It’s a question Claude’s expecting, but it still seems to catch him off guard, “I- just.” He’s got no idea how to answer this and so he falls back on the same excuse he gave Pronger. “I broke up with my girlfriend a while ago.” He says instead, “I haven’t played well since then.”

“Okay. What was her name?” Adam asks, tugging a notebook and pen over.

“Marie.” Claude can feel his shoulders relax a little. This is easy enough, he can talk about Marie. “We met in a bar.”

Adam makes a little affirmative noise, “How long were you together?”

“Nine months.”

“And when did you break up?”

“About six months ago.”

That seems to give Adam pause, and he puts his pen down, looks over at Claude curiously. “Why did you break up?”

Claude’s answered this questions before, a myriad of excuses, _we were just different people_ (false), _we fought a lot_ (true), _she found someone new_ (false), and for some strange reason, he opens his mouth to reply and then closes it, shrugging awkwardly. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons I guess.”

Adam nods. “Alright. What do you think the biggest reason was?”

It’s make or break time, he can lie, he can brush it off. Or he can just get it over with and maybe, maybe he'll find an answer. “I-” He can feel his face burning red, “I didn’t want to have sex with her.” He says, garbled and rushed and he can his eyes prickling, “And I don’t know why.” He blinks rapidly, stares at the carpet with a concentration it doesn’t require. It's the same generic grey that’s everywhere else in the building.

The pause this time is longer, like Adam thinks Claude’s just as fucked up as Claude knows he is. “Do you think there’s a reason for that?” Adam asks, tone and expression neutral.

That’s a dumb question. “I just said I didn’t know.” Claude snaps. "I tried everything."

“That’s okay.” Adam says, calm and unflappable, “Tell me about the guys on the team.” An abrupt change of topic.

It’s weird enough that for a moment, Claude’s too confused to be angry. “You know the guys on the team.”

“I don’t know how _you_ see them,” Adam says, “Who do you spend the most time with?”

“Danny, I guess.” It’s weird saying it when Claude knows that Adam knows, “Because I live with him.”

“You guys get along well, then?”

Claude stares at him warily. He has no idea where this is going. “He annoys the shit out of me sometimes.” He shrugs, “But he’s my best friend. So. I mean, that’s gonna happen, I guess. He's a good guy.”

“Who else?”

"Uh, Simmer? He’s new but we’ve been spending a bit of time together outside the rink. Just playing video games or whatever. He's shit at golf." He can feel his muscles loosen a little, takes a sip of his water, still not quite looking Adam in the eye. "Scotty, me and Danny go out sometimes, and now Simmer."

Adam smiles, "Do you feel like you've got a solid friendship base?"

It's a baffling question, and Claude frowns. "Yes? They're good friends." He's not sure what Adam means. It continues like that for a while, Adam asking questions about the team and the coaching staff and his friends outside of hockey. It's strange and frustrating and Claude has no idea what the _point_ of all this is.

“Did your friends like Marie?" Adam asks eventually.

Claude has no idea what Adam’s getting from all this, but he answers the question anyway. “I guess so?” None of them ever said anything different. “I’m pretty sure they were all just happy I was dating.”

“Why do you think they were bothered about you dating?”

Claude shrugs, “I don’t know. They thought I was lonely. Or, maybe they thought I was gay.” He speaks before Adam can ask, “And, no. I’m not gay.”

Adam’s face is a mask of bland interest, not reacting to much of anything. “You spoke very quickly. Tell me how you discovered that.”

Wow, this isn’t awkward at all. Claude feels his face heat, “This is- I mean, this is all confidential, right?”

A smile. “I swear to God. The only record is my notes, which are encrypted and locked. Only I have access to them. I’m here for you guys, not for management.” Adam looks at him curiously. “Was it a teammate?”

“It was just a kiss.” Jesus. “I kissed Danny. Ages ago. Just once. I was drunk.” He lifts a shoulder like he’s unbothered, even as he knows his face is flaming red. He keeps his eyes focussed on the floor. “I thought maybe I didn’t know I was gay and that would explain the whole not-” He breaks off. “The whole _thing_.” He guesses what Adam will ask next and gives him the answer, “It didn’t explain anything.”

“Does that bother you?”

Claude swallows down the lump in his throat. “Yes.” He’s not going to cry. He’s sick of fucking crying. “There’s something wrong with me.”

Adam nudges forward a box of Kleenex, but makes no other acknowledgement and Claude’s grateful. “Did you not want sex with Marie? Or women in general?”

“With _anyone_. It’s so fucking stupid. And I’ve tried, I’ve slept with so many fucking women and I _hate_ it.”

A moment where Adam’s silent, watching Claude for a moment. “Claude,” He says gently, “What you’re describing isn’t abnormal. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting sex.”

“Yeah, it’s totally normal for a young millionaire athlete to hate having sex with women.” He’s aware of how bitter he sounds, “That’s definitely normal.”

A pause, “Tell me about your sister,” Adam says, as Claude wipes his face with a hand. “Isabelle, right?”

The questions continue like that, veering off topic into safer territories. His relationship with his sister and his parents, his plans for the weekend, until Claude’s calmed down and Adam smiles at him, “I think that’s enough for today.” Claude’s never stood up so fast before in his life. “But, I’d like to keep seeing you.” Adam continues, “Every Thursday after practice.”

Claude will agree to pretty much anything to get out of there. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” Like he has a choice.

*

Danny’s mercifully silent when Claude comes back in, slipping his phone back into his pocket and watching quietly as Claude grabs his gear. He doesn’t mention Claude’s red eyes or the way he keeps his head down. Doesn’t even mention that Claude hasn’t showered yet even though Claude knows he must smell terrible.

“You want to talk about it?” Danny asks quietly, when they get in the car, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

“Not really.” Claude mutters, but he’s only silent for about a minute before he opens his mouth again. “He said there’s nothing wrong with me.” He kicks out at the dash, frustrated. “He said it’s _normal_. Like that fucking helps.” Danny waits patiently, like he knows that Claude’s going to keep talking if he just stays silent long enough and he’s right. “I just- can’t I be-” He breaks off, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“If he says you’re fine, then you’re probably fine.” Danny points out, and Claude’s grateful for the way Danny is pretending that driving is taking all of his attention, “Like. Does it matter? If you don’t want to have sex, then don’t.” He sounds uncertain for a moment, “I mean, that’s what this whole thing is all about right? If you don’t want it, then no one’s making you, y’know?”

“I’m sorry,” Claude snaps, “Are we in the same locker room? You’ve heard the guys.”

Danny shrugs, glances over at him, “Look, just tell them to back off. They’ll get the message eventually. No big deal.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the kind of _of course_ attitude, like Claude’s over-reacting and Claude grits his teeth and tries to swallow the angry retort on the tip of his tongue, “Easy for you to say.” He says instead, more sullen than he intends. He wishes it was that easy, the kind of ‘non-event’ that Danny seems to think it is. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No one will care.” Danny says, “I mean, maybe if you were gay-”

“I’m not gay.”

“I know.” Danny says, “But, like, if you were, then maybe the guys would be weird about it. But if its just that you’re not interested in sex. I mean, that’s weird and all, but it’s not like it’s going to be a problem in the locker-room or whatever, right?”

Oh, Danny’s got to be kidding. “I’m so glad it won’t be inconvenient for the other guys to deal with.” Claude says sarcastically. “I’m sure they’ll definitely understand.”

The shrug Danny gives him is a little more awkward this time, and he glances over, “I’m just saying.” He mutters. “Sorry.”

Nothing more is said about it.

*

Claude spends the next week ignoring it all and he’s back to feeling sick the following Thursday, dreading his appointment with every fibre of his being. Danny smiles at him as he lags behind the others after practice, hipchecks him gently on their way back into the locker room. “I’ll wait for you.” He says and Claude’s grateful.

Adam starts the same way, questions that feels like out of left field. How are the boys and what did he and Danny do on their day off. His favourite movies and how he feels about Sylvie. It’s weird, especially since Claude knows what’s coming. It doesn’t take Adam as long to get to the point this time. “What is it about not wanting sex that bothers you the most?”

Claude shrugs, picking at the ball of tape he conveniently forgot to leave in the locker-room. “It’s weird.” He mutters, “I don’t know. It’s not normal.”

“It’s normal.” Adam says, gently. “Everyone has different sex drives. Some people have high sex drives, some don’t have a sex drive at all. Just because it’s not the most common doesn’t mean it’s not normal.”

He doesn’t want to hear this, and he bites his lip to stop himself from snapping but Adam waits, patient and silent in the other chair and they both know he can outwait Claude. “I just want to be like everyone else.” He bites out eventually, “I want the house and the wife and the kids like everyone else has, and this whole _thing_ makes that a little fucking difficult.”

“Is that what you want? A wife and kids?”

“Of course.” He thinks about it for a moment, tosses the tape anxiously from hand to hand. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not everyone.” Adam says, “But I want you to think about it.” He waits a beat, pausing until Claude looks up at him. “It’s okay to not want sex. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He lets Claude change the topic and they talk about hockey, about Claude maybe becoming captain and Claude feels a little calmer by the time they finish.

“Just before you go.” Adam says, as Claude stands to go. He pulls some papers out of the back of his notebook. “I have some information booklets, if you’d like them.” He holds them out until Claude takes them reluctantly, “Give them a read, and we’ll talk about it on Thursday, okay?”

*

 _Asexuality_. That's what the leaflets call it.

Claude calls it bullshit.

The boys are home for the week, and Claude tries not to think about it too hard, focuses on helping Danny get the boys to practices, to and from school, making sure there’s food in the fridge and there’s at least a vague semblance of vegetables around. It’s nice.

Claude thinks about it, it’s hard not to. This is what he wants. A messy, noisy home. Kids. Someone to share them with.

Well, that’s going to be a bit fucking difficult.

*

There’s no preamble at the next session.

“Did you read the materials I gave you?”

“I don’t want a name for it,” Claude snaps, and he knows it’s not Adam’s fault, that he’s not being fair, but he just wants to be normal, “I want to _fix_ it.”

“You can’t fix it, Claude. It’s part of who you are. There’s nothing broken to fix.”

“I want to be _normal_.” Claude shrugs, his eyes stinging, “Maybe I just haven’t met the right person-” He says, and he desperately wants it to be true.

Adam lets him, “Maybe you haven’t.” He says, “Maybe you’ll meet someone next week. Maybe you never will, and all of those things are okay. You don’t have to label it if you don’t want to but you need to be okay with where you’re at and how you feel.” He lets his words sink in, Claude sitting across from him, hanging his head low. “None of this means you can’t have a relationship. It doesn’t mean you can’t have kids. Those things also don’t mean you _have_ to have sex if you don’t want to, there’s all sorts of options out there.”

“It’s- why does it have to be so hard?” Claude says, “Why can’t I just-” He breaks off, rubs his hands over his face and takes a few calming breaths.

“Are you happy? Ignoring how you feel about your sexuality-” The words make Claude cringe a little. “Are you happy in other aspects of your life?”

Claude thinks about it, taking a few moments respite. He’s got an amazing job, even if he could do without the reporters. He’s got someone awesome to live and great family. He’s got Danny and the boys. He’s got plenty of friends. “Yes.” He says, honestly. “If I could just get over this … _thing_ it'd be perfect."

“Try not to think about it like that.” Adam says, encouraging, “You’re doing well. You’re feeling good. Try not to let this one thing rule it all.” A pause. “Do you want kids now?”

Jesus. There’s no way in hell Claude’s ready for that. “No”

“Then maybe don’t think about it. You don’t know where you’ll be when it comes to it. Try not to worry about the future, alright? Focus on now. Do you feel like you want a relationship right now?”

Claude’s not really thought about it that much. He feels like he _should_. But. “I- Well. No. Not right now.”

“Do you feel like you have enough support?”

“Yeah.”

Adam smiles at him, “That’s good.” He leans back in his chair, “You’ve got lots of people around you, Claude. Not wanting a relationship isn’t the ruin of everything.”

“Yeah.” Claude says, “Maybe.”

*

Danny and Claude don’t talk on the way home that day, the backseat crowded with teenagers shoving and shouting and Claude’s just glad that none of the kids seem to notice that Claude’s quieter than usual. It’s nice to have something to take his mind of it though, getting the boys to put away their gear, feeding them, throwing a load of washing in the machine and helping them with their homework.

None of it means Claude’s gotten away with it though.

Danny waits until the boys are in bed and Claude’s sprawled out, half asleep on the couch, watching terrible re-runs of some shitty reality TV show Claude only vaguely recognises. Danny nudges his feet until Claude lifts them, plonking them unceremoniously in Danny’s lap as soon as Danny sits down. “So.” Danny asks, and Claude tenses. “How did it go today?”

Claude shrugs, “You know, you don’t have to do this recap thing.” He says, suddenly finding the TV more interesting that he was a few seconds ago.

A pause. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Danny looks about as awkward as Claude feels. “I just- if you _did_ -”

Sometimes Claude wonders how Danny’s managed to raise three kids being this awkward. “It was alright.” He says, “He. Uh. Gave me some information.”

“Yeah?”

Claude picks at the rip in his jeans, “Yeah. It’s-” He shrugs again, uncomfortable, unable to bring himself to say it outloud. “He wants me to think about what I want.”

“What do you want?”

It feels too personal, too private, almost embarrassing to admit. “I want what you have.”

“You want to be a thirty two year old bitter divorcee with three children, two of which appear to have been swapped out with some sort of demons?” He says it jokingly, gives Claude’s ankle a bit of a squeeze but both of them keep their eyes trained on the TV; Claude’s pretty sure it’s Jersey Shore, but it’s not like he’d know.

Claude wants to pull away, can feel his face burning with embarrassment, “I mean- This whole thing. Like, the kids and-” There’s no way of saying it without it being pathetic as fuck, but it’s too late to back out now, “Well… Me.” He tried to amend it, trying to salvage what he’s pretty sure it’s the most mortifying thing he’s ever said out loud. “I- Okay, that’s not what I meant.”

Danny’s looking at him now, curious, holding tight when Claude tries to pull away and put some distance between them. “I thought you said you weren’t gay.” He says, and for a moment, Claude’s speechless until he notices the grin on Danny’s mouth.

“Not like _that_ ,” Claude says, though his face is still red, “ _God_. You’re not even that attractive.”

“ _That_ attractive, hey?”

“Shut up, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He tries to think of a way to explain it, and he hopes to God there’s alcohol in the kitchen because he’s pretty sure they’re going to both need to drink until they forget this conversation ever happened. “I’d like kids.”

“Mine _are_ pretty great.”

Claude appreciates the attempt at levity. “Like, I want kids. But, just a friend instead of a girlfriend.” He shrugs, feeling extra awkward.

Danny’s quiet for a moment, “Yeah. I guess I can understand that.” He pokes at the bottom of Claude’s foot. “Besides, I can tell you that marriage fucking _sucks_.” He grins over at him. “Tell you what. You help me raise my monsters, and I’ll help you raise yours when you have them.”

Claude laughs, feeling lighter than he has for a long time. “Yeah,” He says. “Alright.”

*

END

 


End file.
